author stringclasses 275
values | title stringlengths 2 168 | text stringlengths 59 111k | poem_start stringlengths 13 36.6k | poem_end stringlengths 43 74.1k | form stringclasses 4
values |
|---|---|---|---|---|---|
John Greenleaf Whittier | Derne | Night on the city of the Moor!
On mosque and tomb, and white-walled shore,
On sea-waves, to whose ceaseless knock
The narrow harbor gates unlock,
On corsair's galley, carack tall,
And plundered Christian caraval!
The sounds of Moslem life are still;
No mule-bell tinkles down the hill;
Stretched in the broad court of th... | Night on the city of the Moor!
On mosque and tomb, and white-walled shore,
On sea-waves, to whose ceaseless knock
The narrow harbor gates unlock,
On corsair's galley, carack tall,
And plundered Christian caraval!
The sounds of Moslem life are still;
No mule-bell tinkles down the hill;
Stretched in the broad court of th... | Whose load man totters down to death,
Is that which plucks the regal crown
Of Freedom from his forehead down,
And snatches from his powerless hand
The sceptred sign of self-command,
Effacing with the chain and rod
The image and the seal of God;
Till from his nature, day by day,
The manly virtues fall away,
And leave hi... | free_verse |
Paul Bewsher | Disillusion. | You mortals see the sky -
I only see the ground,
As through the air I fly.
You mortals see the sky,
And yet with envy sigh
Because to earth you're bound!
You mortals see the sky -
I only see the ground! | You mortals see the sky -
I only see the ground, | As through the air I fly.
You mortals see the sky,
And yet with envy sigh
Because to earth you're bound!
You mortals see the sky -
I only see the ground! | octave |
Robert Herrick | The Scare-Fire. | Water, water I desire,
Here's a house of flesh on fire;
Ope the fountains and the springs,
And come all to bucketings:
What ye cannot quench pull down;
Spoil a house to save a town:
Better 'tis that one should fall,
Than by one to hazard all.
| Water, water I desire,
Here's a house of flesh on fire; | Ope the fountains and the springs,
And come all to bucketings:
What ye cannot quench pull down;
Spoil a house to save a town:
Better 'tis that one should fall,
Than by one to hazard all. | octave |
Alfred Edward Housman | The sloe was lost in flower, | The sloe was lost in flower,
The April elm was dim;
That was the lover's hour,
The hour for lies and him.
If thorns are all the bower,
If north winds freeze the fir,
Why, 'tis another's hour,
The hour for truth and her. | The sloe was lost in flower,
The April elm was dim; | That was the lover's hour,
The hour for lies and him.
If thorns are all the bower,
If north winds freeze the fir,
Why, 'tis another's hour,
The hour for truth and her. | octave |
Robert Herrick | To Marigolds. | Give way, and be ye ravish'd by the sun,
And hang the head whenas the act is done,
Spread as he spreads, wax less as he does wane;
And as he shuts, close up to maids again. | Give way, and be ye ravish'd by the sun, | And hang the head whenas the act is done,
Spread as he spreads, wax less as he does wane;
And as he shuts, close up to maids again. | quatrain |
Robert Herrick | To Oenone. | Sweet Oenone, do but say
Love thou dost, though love says nay.
Speak me fair; for lovers be
Gently kill'd by flattery. | Sweet Oenone, do but say | Love thou dost, though love says nay.
Speak me fair; for lovers be
Gently kill'd by flattery. | quatrain |
William Wordsworth | Memorials Of A Tour In Italy, 1837 - II. - The Pine Of Monte Mario At Rome | I saw far off the dark top of a Pine
Look like a cloud, a slender stem the tie
That bound it to its native earth, poised high
'Mid evening hues, along the horizon line,
Striving in peace each other to outshine.
But when I learned the Tree was living there,
Saved from the sordid axe by Beaumont's care,
Oh, what a gush o... | I saw far off the dark top of a Pine
Look like a cloud, a slender stem the tie
That bound it to its native earth, poised high
'Mid evening hues, along the horizon line, | Striving in peace each other to outshine.
But when I learned the Tree was living there,
Saved from the sordid axe by Beaumont's care,
Oh, what a gush of tenderness was mine!
The rescued Pine-Tree, with its sky so bright
And cloud-like beauty, rich in thoughts of home,
Death-parted friends, and days too swift in flight,... | sonnet |
Thomas Moore | Sweet Innisfallen. | Sweet Innisfallen, fare thee well,
May calm and sunshine long be thine!
How fair thou art let others tell,--
To feel how fair shall long be mine.
Sweet Innisfallen, long shall dwell
In memory's dream that sunny smile,
Which o'er thee on that evening fell,
When first I saw thy fairy isle.
'Twas light, indeed, too blest ... | Sweet Innisfallen, fare thee well,
May calm and sunshine long be thine!
How fair thou art let others tell,--
To feel how fair shall long be mine.
Sweet Innisfallen, long shall dwell
In memory's dream that sunny smile,
Which o'er thee on that evening fell,
When first I saw thy fairy isle.
'Twas light, indeed, too blest ... | No more unto thy shores to come,
But, on the world's rude ocean tost,
Dream of thee sometimes, as a home
Of sunshine he had seen and lost.
Far better in thy weeping hours
To part from thee, as I do now,
When mist is o'er thy blooming bowers,
Like sorrow's veil on beauty's brow.
For, though unrivalled still thy grace,
T... | free_verse |
Laurence Hope (Adela Florence Cory Nicolson) | The Garden of Kama: Kama the Indian Eros | The daylight is dying,
The Flying fox flying,
Amber and amethyst burn in the sky.
See, the sun throws a late,
Lingering, roseate
Kiss to the landscape to bid it good-bye.
The time of our Trysting!
Oh, come, unresisting,
Lovely, expectant, on tentative feet.
Shadow shall cover us,
Roses bend over us,
Making a bride cham... | The daylight is dying,
The Flying fox flying,
Amber and amethyst burn in the sky.
See, the sun throws a late,
Lingering, roseate
Kiss to the landscape to bid it good-bye.
The time of our Trysting!
Oh, come, unresisting,
Lovely, expectant, on tentative feet.
Shadow shall cover us,
Roses bend over us,
Making a bride cham... | We know not life's reason,
The length of its season,
Know not if they know, the great Ones above.
We none of us sought it,
And few could support it,
Were it not gilt with the glamour of love.
But much is forgiven
To Gods who have given,
If but for an hour, the Rapture of Youth.
You do not yet know it,
But Kama shall sh... | free_verse |
William Arthur Dunkerley (John Oxenham) | God's Handwriting | He writes in characters too grand
For our short sight to understand;
We catch but broken strokes, and try
To fathom all the mystery
Of withered hopes, of death, of life,
The endless war, the useless strife,--
But there, with larger, clearer sight,
We shall see this--His way was right. | He writes in characters too grand
For our short sight to understand; | We catch but broken strokes, and try
To fathom all the mystery
Of withered hopes, of death, of life,
The endless war, the useless strife,--
But there, with larger, clearer sight,
We shall see this--His way was right. | octave |
Robert Herrick | Upon Lusk. | In Den'shire Kersey Lusk, when he was dead,
Would shrouded be and therewith buried.
When his assigns asked him the reason why,
He said, because he got his wealth thereby. | In Den'shire Kersey Lusk, when he was dead, | Would shrouded be and therewith buried.
When his assigns asked him the reason why,
He said, because he got his wealth thereby. | quatrain |
Madison Julius Cawein | Strategy. A Quatrain. | Craft's silent sister and the daughter deep
Of Contemplation, she, who spreads below
A hostile tent soft comfort for her foe,
With eyes of Jael watching till he sleep. | Craft's silent sister and the daughter deep | Of Contemplation, she, who spreads below
A hostile tent soft comfort for her foe,
With eyes of Jael watching till he sleep. | quatrain |
Thomas Osborne Davis | The Penal Days. | Air--The Wheelwright.
I.
Oh! weep those days, the penal days,
When Ireland hopelessly complained.
Oh! weep those days, the penal days,
When godless persecution reigned;
When year by year,
For serf and peer,
Fresh cruelties were made by law,
And filled with hate,
Our senate sate
To weld anew each fetter's flaw.
Oh! weep... | Air--The Wheelwright.
I.
Oh! weep those days, the penal days,
When Ireland hopelessly complained.
Oh! weep those days, the penal days,
When godless persecution reigned;
When year by year,
For serf and peer,
Fresh cruelties were made by law,
And filled with hate,
Our senate sate
To weld anew each fetter's flaw.
Oh! weep... | Their dogs were taught alike to run
Upon the scent of wolf and friar.
Among the poor,
Or on the moor,
Were hid the pious and the true--
While traitor knave,
And recreant slave,
Had riches, rank, and retinue;
And, exiled in those penal days,
Our banners over Europe blaze.
III.
A stranger held the land and tower
Of many ... | free_verse |
Ella Wheeler Wilcox | Thoughts | Thoughts do not need the wings of words
To fly to any goal.
Like subtle lightnings, not like birds,
They speed from soul to soul.
Hide in your heart a bitter thought -
Still it has power to blight;
Think Love -although you speak it not
It gives the world more light. | Thoughts do not need the wings of words
To fly to any goal. | Like subtle lightnings, not like birds,
They speed from soul to soul.
Hide in your heart a bitter thought -
Still it has power to blight;
Think Love -although you speak it not
It gives the world more light. | octave |
George MacDonald | Sonnet. About Jesus. XVIII. | Thou art before me, and I see no more
Pilate or soldiers, but the purple flung
Around the naked form the scourge had wrung,
To naked Truth thus witnessing, before
The False and trembling True. As on the shore
Of infinite Love and Truth, I kneel among
Thy footprints on that pavement; and my tongue
Would, but for reveren... | Thou art before me, and I see no more
Pilate or soldiers, but the purple flung
Around the naked form the scourge had wrung,
To naked Truth thus witnessing, before | The False and trembling True. As on the shore
Of infinite Love and Truth, I kneel among
Thy footprints on that pavement; and my tongue
Would, but for reverence, cry: "If Thou set'st store
By feeble homage, Witness to the Truth,
Thou art the King, crowned by thy witnessing!"
I die in soul, and fall down worshipping.
Art... | sonnet |
Michael Earls | A Hill O' Lights | Turn from Kerry crossroads and leave the wooded dells,
Take the mountain path and find where Tip O'Leary dwells;
Tip O'Leary is the name, I sing it all day long,
And every bird whose heart is wise will have it for a song.
Tip O'Leary keeps the lights of many lamps aglow,
Little matters it to him the seasons come or go,... | Turn from Kerry crossroads and leave the wooded dells,
Take the mountain path and find where Tip O'Leary dwells;
Tip O'Leary is the name, I sing it all day long,
And every bird whose heart is wise will have it for a song.
Tip O'Leary keeps the lights of many lamps aglow,
Little matters it to him the seasons come or go, | Sure if spring is in the air his hedges are abloom,
And fairy buds like candles shine across his garden room.
Roses in the June days are light the miles around,
Tapers of the fuchsias move along the August ground,
Sumachs light the flaming torches by October's grave
And like the campfires on the hills the oaks and mapl... | free_verse |
Walter Savage Landor | I Strove With None | I strove with none, for none was worth my strife.
Nature I loved and, next to Nature, Art:
I warm'd both hands before the fire of life;
It sinks, and I am ready to depart. | I strove with none, for none was worth my strife. | Nature I loved and, next to Nature, Art:
I warm'd both hands before the fire of life;
It sinks, and I am ready to depart. | quatrain |
Walt Whitman | O Tan-Faced Prairie Boy | O tan-faced prairie-boy!
Before you came to camp, came many a welcome gift;
Praises and presents came, and nourishing food - till at last, among the recruits,
You came, taciturn, with nothing to give - we but look'd on each other,
When lo! more than all the gifts of the world, you gave me. | O tan-faced prairie-boy! | Before you came to camp, came many a welcome gift;
Praises and presents came, and nourishing food - till at last, among the recruits,
You came, taciturn, with nothing to give - we but look'd on each other,
When lo! more than all the gifts of the world, you gave me. | free_verse |
Emily Elizabeth Dickinson | Philosophy. | It might be easier
To fail with land in sight,
Than gain my blue peninsula
To perish of delight. | It might be easier | To fail with land in sight,
Than gain my blue peninsula
To perish of delight. | quatrain |
Emily Elizabeth Dickinson | Dawn. | Not knowing when the dawn will come
I open every door;
Or has it feathers like a bird,
Or billows like a shore? | Not knowing when the dawn will come | I open every door;
Or has it feathers like a bird,
Or billows like a shore? | quatrain |
James McIntyre | Lines Sent To Thomas Conant Of Oshawa, A Writer Of Canadian Sketches | We do greet thee Thomas Conant,
You truthful paint Canadian charms,
And you are the great exponent
Of beauties of her woods and farms.
You give fine sketch of bird and fowl,
Of the blue jay and the plover,
And of great white Canadian owl,
All proves of nature you're a lover. | We do greet thee Thomas Conant,
You truthful paint Canadian charms, | And you are the great exponent
Of beauties of her woods and farms.
You give fine sketch of bird and fowl,
Of the blue jay and the plover,
And of great white Canadian owl,
All proves of nature you're a lover. | octave |
William Shakespeare | The Sonnets V - Those hours, that with gentle work did frame | Those hours, that with gentle work did frame
The lovely gaze where every eye doth dwell,
Will play the tyrants to the very same
And that unfair which fairly doth excel;
For never-resting time leads summer on
To hideous winter, and confounds him there;
Sap checked with frost, and lusty leaves quite gone,
Beauty o'er-sno... | Those hours, that with gentle work did frame
The lovely gaze where every eye doth dwell,
Will play the tyrants to the very same
And that unfair which fairly doth excel; | For never-resting time leads summer on
To hideous winter, and confounds him there;
Sap checked with frost, and lusty leaves quite gone,
Beauty o'er-snowed and bareness every where:
Then were not summer's distillation left,
A liquid prisoner pent in walls of glass,
Beauty's effect with beauty were bereft,
Nor it, nor no... | sonnet |
Emily Elizabeth Dickinson | "The Pedigree Of Honey" | The pedigree of honey
Does not concern the bee;
A clover, any time, to him
Is aristocracy. | The pedigree of honey | Does not concern the bee;
A clover, any time, to him
Is aristocracy. | quatrain |
John Carr (Sir) | Impromptu, In Reply To A Lady, Who Asked The Author What Childhood Resembled. | How like is childhood to the lucid tide
That calmly wanders thro' the mossy dell,
Sweeps o'er the lily by the margin's side,
And, as it kisses, murmurs out, Farewell! | How like is childhood to the lucid tide | That calmly wanders thro' the mossy dell,
Sweeps o'er the lily by the margin's side,
And, as it kisses, murmurs out, Farewell! | quatrain |
Unknown | Nursery Rhyme. DXCI. Natural History. | Goosy, goosy, gander,
Who stands yonder?
Little Betsy Baker;
Take her up, and shake her. | Goosy, goosy, gander, | Who stands yonder?
Little Betsy Baker;
Take her up, and shake her. | quatrain |
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow | Holidays | The holiest of all holidays are those
Kept by ourselves in silence and apart;
The secret anniversaries of the heart,
When the full river of feeling overflows;--
The happy days unclouded to their close;
The sudden joys that out of darkness start
As flames from ashes; swift desires that dart
Like swallows singing down ea... | The holiest of all holidays are those
Kept by ourselves in silence and apart;
The secret anniversaries of the heart,
When the full river of feeling overflows;-- | The happy days unclouded to their close;
The sudden joys that out of darkness start
As flames from ashes; swift desires that dart
Like swallows singing down each wind that blows!
White as the gleam of a receding sail,
White as a cloud that floats and fades in air,
White as the whitest lily on a stream,
These tender mem... | sonnet |
Thomas Oldham | Epitaph On Napoleon | Lo! here, on this lone isle amid the deeps,
From his proud height of conquest, greatness hurl'd,
Buried in silent night, Napoleon sleeps!
Long Gallia's boast, the wonder of the world!
Though humbly born, Ambition claim'd her child;
Fate urged him on, his great career to fill;
On him, in war, in dangers, Fortune smiled;... | Lo! here, on this lone isle amid the deeps,
From his proud height of conquest, greatness hurl'd,
Buried in silent night, Napoleon sleeps!
Long Gallia's boast, the wonder of the world!
Though humbly born, Ambition claim'd her child;
Fate urged him on, his great career to fill; | On him, in war, in dangers, Fortune smiled;
And on his eagles Victory waited still.
By battles won, by policy profound,
Kings he dethroned, fill'd Europe with dismay:
England alone, of all the nations round,
His power opposed, disdaining to obey.
Forced by the flames of Moscow to retreat,
Half his vast host by cold, by... | free_verse |
Oliver Herford | William Howard Taft | I'm sorry William Taft is out
Of Politics; without a doubt
Of all the Presidential crew
He was the easiest to do. | I'm sorry William Taft is out | Of Politics; without a doubt
Of all the Presidential crew
He was the easiest to do. | quatrain |
Robert Herrick | Observation. | The Jews, when they built houses, I have read,
One part thereof left still unfinished,
To make them thereby mindful of their own
City's most sad and dire destruction. | The Jews, when they built houses, I have read, | One part thereof left still unfinished,
To make them thereby mindful of their own
City's most sad and dire destruction. | quatrain |
William Butler Yeats | Meru | Civilisation is hooped together, brought
Under a mle, under the semblance of peace
By manifold illusion; but man's life is thought,
And he, despite his terror, cannot cease
Ravening through century after century,
Ravening, raging, and uprooting that he may come
Into the desolation of reality:
Egypt and Greece, good-bye... | Civilisation is hooped together, brought
Under a mle, under the semblance of peace
By manifold illusion; but man's life is thought,
And he, despite his terror, cannot cease | Ravening through century after century,
Ravening, raging, and uprooting that he may come
Into the desolation of reality:
Egypt and Greece, good-bye, and good-bye, Rome!
Hermits upon Mount Meru or Everest,
Caverned in night under the drifted snow,
Or where that snow and winter's dreadful blast
Beat down upon their naked... | sonnet |
Unknown | Nursery Rhyme. CVII. Proverbs. | Friday night's dream
On the Saturday told,
Is sure to come true,
Be it never so old. | Friday night's dream | On the Saturday told,
Is sure to come true,
Be it never so old. | quatrain |
Ralph Waldo Emerson | Written In A Volume Of Goethe | Six thankful weeks,--and let it be
A meter of prosperity,--
In my coat I bore this book,
And seldom therein could I look,
For I had too much to think,
Heaven and earth to eat and drink.
Is he hapless who can spare
In his plenty things so rare? | Six thankful weeks,--and let it be
A meter of prosperity,-- | In my coat I bore this book,
And seldom therein could I look,
For I had too much to think,
Heaven and earth to eat and drink.
Is he hapless who can spare
In his plenty things so rare? | octave |
Michael Drayton | Amour 36 | Sweete, sleepe so arm'd with Beauties arrowes darting,
Sleepe in thy Beauty, Beauty in sleepe appeareth;
Sleepe lightning Beauty, Beauty sleepes, darknes cleereth,
Sleepes wonder Beauty, wonders to worlds imparting.
Sleep watching Beauty, Beauty waking, sleepe guarding
Beauty in sleepe, sleepe in Beauty charmed,
Sleepe... | Sweete, sleepe so arm'd with Beauties arrowes darting,
Sleepe in thy Beauty, Beauty in sleepe appeareth;
Sleepe lightning Beauty, Beauty sleepes, darknes cleereth,
Sleepes wonder Beauty, wonders to worlds imparting. | Sleep watching Beauty, Beauty waking, sleepe guarding
Beauty in sleepe, sleepe in Beauty charmed,
Sleepes aged coldnes with Beauties fire warmed,
Sleepe with delight, Beauty with loue rewarding.
Sleepe and Beauty, with equall forces stryuing,
Beauty her strength vnto sleepes weaknes lending,
Sleepe with Beauty, Beauty ... | sonnet |
Unknown | Nursery Rhyme. DLXXXIII. Natural History. | The Cock. Lock the dairy door,
Lock the dairy door!
The Hen. Chickle, chackle, chee,
I haven't got the key! | The Cock. Lock the dairy door, | Lock the dairy door!
The Hen. Chickle, chackle, chee,
I haven't got the key! | quatrain |
Robert Burns | Lines Sent To Sir John Whitefoord, Bart., Of Whitefoord. With The Foregoing Poem. | Thou, who thy honour as thy God rever'st,
Who, save thy mind's reproach, nought earthly fear'st,
To thee this votive offering I impart,
The tearful tribute of a broken heart.
The friend thou valuedst, I, the patron, lov'd;
His worth, his honour, all the world approv'd,
We'll mourn till we too go as he has gone,
And tre... | Thou, who thy honour as thy God rever'st,
Who, save thy mind's reproach, nought earthly fear'st, | To thee this votive offering I impart,
The tearful tribute of a broken heart.
The friend thou valuedst, I, the patron, lov'd;
His worth, his honour, all the world approv'd,
We'll mourn till we too go as he has gone,
And tread the dreary path to that dark world unknown. | octave |
Oliver Wendell Holmes | Evening By A Tailor | Day hath put on his jacket, and around
His burning bosom buttoned it with stars.
Here will I lay me on the velvet grass,
That is like padding to earth's meagre ribs,
And hold communion with the things about me.
Ah me! how lovely is the golden braid
That binds the skirt of night's descending robe!
The thin leaves, quive... | Day hath put on his jacket, and around
His burning bosom buttoned it with stars.
Here will I lay me on the velvet grass,
That is like padding to earth's meagre ribs,
And hold communion with the things about me.
Ah me! how lovely is the golden braid
That binds the skirt of night's descending robe!
The thin leaves, quive... | Sweetened the fragrance of her spicy air;
But now thou seemest like a bankrupt beau,
Stripped of his gaudy hues and essences,
And growing portly in his sober garments.
Is that a swan that rides upon the water?
Oh no, it is that other gentle bird,
Which is the patron of our noble calling.
I well remember, in my early ye... | free_verse |
William Cowper | On Observing Some Names Of Little Note Recorded In The Biographia Britannica. | Oh, fond attempt to give a deathless lot
To names ignoble, born to be forgot!
In vain recorded in historic page,
They court the notice of a future age:
Those twinkling tiny lustres of the land
Drop one by one from Fame's neglecting hand;
Leth'an gulfs receive them as they fall,
And dark oblivion soon absorbs them all.
... | Oh, fond attempt to give a deathless lot
To names ignoble, born to be forgot!
In vain recorded in historic page,
They court the notice of a future age: | Those twinkling tiny lustres of the land
Drop one by one from Fame's neglecting hand;
Leth'an gulfs receive them as they fall,
And dark oblivion soon absorbs them all.
So when a child, as playful children use,
Has burnt to tinder a stale last year's news,
The flame extinct, he views the roving fire'
There goes my lady,... | sonnet |
Robert Lee Frost | Immigrants | No ship of all that under sail or steam
Have gathered people to us more and more
But Pilgrim-manned the Mayflower in a dream
Has been her anxious convoy in to shore. | No ship of all that under sail or steam | Have gathered people to us more and more
But Pilgrim-manned the Mayflower in a dream
Has been her anxious convoy in to shore. | quatrain |
John Frederick Freeman | Lonely Airs | Ah, bird singing late in the gloam
While the evening shadow thickens,
And the dizzy bat-wings roam,
And the faint starlight quickens;
And her bud eve's primrose bares
Before night's cold fingers come:
Thine are such lonely airs,
Bird singing late in the gloam! | Ah, bird singing late in the gloam
While the evening shadow thickens, | And the dizzy bat-wings roam,
And the faint starlight quickens;
And her bud eve's primrose bares
Before night's cold fingers come:
Thine are such lonely airs,
Bird singing late in the gloam! | octave |
W. M. MacKeracher | Short Days. | Now is the Sun, erst spendthrift of his rays
And lavish of his largesses of light,
Become a miser in his latter days,
An avaricious dotard, alter'd quite.
Is he the same that all the summer long
Strew'd with ungrudging hand his gleaming gold?
Can such ill grace to high estate belong?
Can bright be dim? can warm so soon... | Now is the Sun, erst spendthrift of his rays
And lavish of his largesses of light,
Become a miser in his latter days,
An avaricious dotard, alter'd quite. | Is he the same that all the summer long
Strew'd with ungrudging hand his gleaming gold?
Can such ill grace to high estate belong?
Can bright be dim? can warm so soon be cold?
Ay, but he goes his parsimonious way,
And hoards his shining treasures from the view,
And garners up his riches 'gainst the day
When Earth, the p... | sonnet |
Robert Herrick | Matins, Or Morning Prayer | When with the virgin morning thou dost rise,
Crossing thyself come thus to sacrifice;
First wash thy heart in innocence; then bring
Pure hands, pure habits, pure, pure every thing.
Next to the altar humbly kneel, and thence
Give up thy soul in clouds of frankincense.
Thy golden censers fill'd with odours sweet
Shall ma... | When with the virgin morning thou dost rise,
Crossing thyself come thus to sacrifice; | First wash thy heart in innocence; then bring
Pure hands, pure habits, pure, pure every thing.
Next to the altar humbly kneel, and thence
Give up thy soul in clouds of frankincense.
Thy golden censers fill'd with odours sweet
Shall make thy actions with their ends to meet. | octave |
Unknown | Nursery Rhyme. CCCV. Games. | There were two blackbirds,
Sitting on a hill,
The one nam'd Jack,
The other nam'd Jill;
Fly away Jack!
Fly away Jill!
Come again Jack!
Come again Jill! | There were two blackbirds,
Sitting on a hill, | The one nam'd Jack,
The other nam'd Jill;
Fly away Jack!
Fly away Jill!
Come again Jack!
Come again Jill! | octave |
George MacDonald | A Prayer In Sickness. | Thou foldest me in sickness;
Thou callest through the cloud;
I batter with the thickness
Of the swathing, blinding shroud:
Oh, let me see thy face,
The only perfect grace
That thou canst show thy child.
0 father, being-giver,
Take off the sickness-cloud;
Saviour, my life deliver
From this dull body-shroud:
Till I can s... | Thou foldest me in sickness;
Thou callest through the cloud;
I batter with the thickness
Of the swathing, blinding shroud: | Oh, let me see thy face,
The only perfect grace
That thou canst show thy child.
0 father, being-giver,
Take off the sickness-cloud;
Saviour, my life deliver
From this dull body-shroud:
Till I can see thy face
I am not full of grace,
I am not reconciled. | sonnet |
Hilaire Belloc | The Marmozet | The species Man and Marmozet
Are intimately linked;
The Marmozet survives as yet,
But Men are all extinct. | The species Man and Marmozet | Are intimately linked;
The Marmozet survives as yet,
But Men are all extinct. | quatrain |
Alfred Edward Housman | Poems From "A Shropshire Lad" - XLV | If it chance your eye offend you,
Pluck it out, lad, and be sound:
'Twill hurt, but here are salves to friend you,
And many a balsam grows on ground.
And if your hand or foot offend you,
Cut it off, lad, and be whole;
But play the man, stand up and end you,
When your sickness is your soul. | If it chance your eye offend you,
Pluck it out, lad, and be sound: | 'Twill hurt, but here are salves to friend you,
And many a balsam grows on ground.
And if your hand or foot offend you,
Cut it off, lad, and be whole;
But play the man, stand up and end you,
When your sickness is your soul. | octave |
Robert Herrick | Cunctation In Correction. | The lictors bundled up their rods; beside,
Knit them with knots with much ado unti'd,
That if, unknitting, men would yet repent,
They might escape the lash of punishment. | The lictors bundled up their rods; beside, | Knit them with knots with much ado unti'd,
That if, unknitting, men would yet repent,
They might escape the lash of punishment. | quatrain |
Elizabeth Barrett Browning | Sonnets From The Portuguese XLII | My future will not copy fair my past,
I wrote that once; and thinking at my side
My ministering life-angel justified
The word by his appealing look upcast
To the white throne of God, I turned at last,
And there, instead, saw thee, not unallied
To angels in thy soul! Then I, long tried
By natural ills, received the comf... | My future will not copy fair my past,
I wrote that once; and thinking at my side
My ministering life-angel justified
The word by his appealing look upcast | To the white throne of God, I turned at last,
And there, instead, saw thee, not unallied
To angels in thy soul! Then I, long tried
By natural ills, received the comfort fast,
While budding, at thy sight, my pilgrim's staff
Gave out green leaves with morning dews impearled.
I seek no copy now of life's first half:
Leave... | sonnet |
George MacDonald | Sonnet. About Jesus. XVI. | And yet I fear lest men who read these lines,
Should judge of them as if they wholly spake
The love I bear Thee and thy holy sake;
Saying: "He doth the high name wrong who twines
Earth's highest aim with Him, and thus combines
Jesus and Art." But I my refuge make
In what the Word said: "Man his life shall take
From eve... | And yet I fear lest men who read these lines,
Should judge of them as if they wholly spake
The love I bear Thee and thy holy sake;
Saying: "He doth the high name wrong who twines | Earth's highest aim with Him, and thus combines
Jesus and Art." But I my refuge make
In what the Word said: "Man his life shall take
From every word:" in Art God first designs,--
He spoke the word. And let me humbly speak
My faith, that Art is nothing to the act,
Lowliest, that to the Truth bears witness meek,
Renownle... | sonnet |
Anna Seward | Sonnet XXXI. To The Departing Spirit Of An Alienated Friend. | O, EVER DEAR! thy precious, vital powers
Sink rapidly! - the long and dreary Night
Brings scarce an hope that Morn's returning light
Shall dawn for THEE! - In such terrific hours,
When yearning Fondness eagerly devours
Each moment of protracted life, his flight
The Rashly-Chosen of thy heart has ta'en
Where dances, son... | O, EVER DEAR! thy precious, vital powers
Sink rapidly! - the long and dreary Night
Brings scarce an hope that Morn's returning light
Shall dawn for THEE! - In such terrific hours, | When yearning Fondness eagerly devours
Each moment of protracted life, his flight
The Rashly-Chosen of thy heart has ta'en
Where dances, songs, and theatres invite.
EXPIRING SWEETNESS! with indignant pain
I see him in the scenes where laughing glide
Pleasure's light Forms; - see his eyes gaily glow,
Regardless of thy l... | sonnet |
Clark Ashton Smith | The Maze Of Sleep | Sleep is a pathless labyrinth,
Dark to the gaze of moons and suns,
Through which the colored clue of dreams,
A gossamer thread, obscurely runs. | Sleep is a pathless labyrinth, | Dark to the gaze of moons and suns,
Through which the colored clue of dreams,
A gossamer thread, obscurely runs. | quatrain |
Emily Elizabeth Dickinson | A Syllable. | Could mortal lip divine
The undeveloped freight
Of a delivered syllable,
'T would crumble with the weight. | Could mortal lip divine | The undeveloped freight
Of a delivered syllable,
'T would crumble with the weight. | quatrain |
Henry John Newbolt, Sir | Pereunt Et Imputantur | (After Martial)
Bernard, if to you and me
Fortune all at once should give
Years to spend secure and free,
With the choice of how to live,
Tell me, what should we proclaim
Life deserving of the name?
Winning some one else's case?
Saving some one else's seat?
Hearing with a solemn face
People of importance bleat?
No, I t... | (After Martial)
Bernard, if to you and me
Fortune all at once should give
Years to spend secure and free,
With the choice of how to live,
Tell me, what should we proclaim
Life deserving of the name?
Winning some one else's case? | Saving some one else's seat?
Hearing with a solemn face
People of importance bleat?
No, I think we should not still
Waste our time at others' will.
Summer noons beneath the limes,
Summer rides at evening cool,
Winter's tales and home-made rhymes,
Figures on the frozen pool---
These would we for labours take,
And of the... | free_verse |
Arthur Hugh Clough | Thesis and Antithesis | If that we thus are guilty doth appear,
Ah, guilty tho' we are, grave judges, hear!
Ah, yes; if ever you in your sweet youth
'Midst pleasure's borders missed the track of truth,
Made love on benches underneath green trees,
Stuffed tender rhymes with old new similes,
Whispered soft anythings, and in the blood
Felt all y... | If that we thus are guilty doth appear,
Ah, guilty tho' we are, grave judges, hear!
Ah, yes; if ever you in your sweet youth
'Midst pleasure's borders missed the track of truth,
Made love on benches underneath green trees,
Stuffed tender rhymes with old new similes,
Whispered soft anythings, and in the blood
Felt all y... | In foolish longing and in love-sick play
Forgot the truth and lost the flying day,
That we went wrong we say not is not true,
But, if we erred, were we not punished too?
If not, if no one checked our wandering feet,
Shall we our parents' negligence repeat?
In future times that ancient loss renew,
If none saved us, forb... | free_verse |
Michael Drayton | Amour 13 | Cleere Ankor, on whose siluer-sanded shore
My soule-shrinde Saint, my faire Idea, lyes;
O blessed Brooke! whose milk-white Swans adore
The christall streame refined by her eyes:
Where sweet Myrh-breathing Zephyre in the spring
Gently distils his Nectar-dropping showers;
Where Nightingales in Arden sit and sing
Amongst ... | Cleere Ankor, on whose siluer-sanded shore
My soule-shrinde Saint, my faire Idea, lyes;
O blessed Brooke! whose milk-white Swans adore
The christall streame refined by her eyes: | Where sweet Myrh-breathing Zephyre in the spring
Gently distils his Nectar-dropping showers;
Where Nightingales in Arden sit and sing
Amongst those dainty dew-empearled flowers.
Say thus, fayre Brooke, when thou shall see thy Queene:
Loe! heere thy Shepheard spent his wandring yeeres,
And in these shades (deer Nimphe) ... | sonnet |
William Shakespeare | The Sonnets LXXV - So are you to my thoughts as food to life | So are you to my thoughts as food to life,
Or as sweet-season'd showers are to the ground;
And for the peace of you I hold such strife
As 'twixt a miser and his wealth is found.
Now proud as an enjoyer, and anon
Doubting the filching age will steal his treasure;
Now counting best to be with you alone,
Then better'd tha... | So are you to my thoughts as food to life,
Or as sweet-season'd showers are to the ground;
And for the peace of you I hold such strife
As 'twixt a miser and his wealth is found. | Now proud as an enjoyer, and anon
Doubting the filching age will steal his treasure;
Now counting best to be with you alone,
Then better'd that the world may see my pleasure:
Sometime all full with feasting on your sight,
And by and by clean starved for a look;
Possessing or pursuing no delight,
Save what is had, or mu... | sonnet |
Rudyard Kipling | Doctors | Man dies too soon, beside his works half-planned.
His days are counted and reprieve is vain:
Who shall entreat with Death to stay his hand;
Or cloke the shameful nakedness of pain?
Send here the bold, the seekers of the way,
The passionless, the unshakeable of soul,
Who serve the inmost mysteries of man's clay,
And ask... | Man dies too soon, beside his works half-planned.
His days are counted and reprieve is vain: | Who shall entreat with Death to stay his hand;
Or cloke the shameful nakedness of pain?
Send here the bold, the seekers of the way,
The passionless, the unshakeable of soul,
Who serve the inmost mysteries of man's clay,
And ask no more than leave to make them whole. | octave |
Walter De La Mare | Tired Tim | Poor Tired Tim! It's sad for him.
He lags the long bright morning through,
Ever so tired of nothing to do;
He moons and mopes the livelong day,
Nothing to think about, nothing to say;
Up to bed with his candle to creep,
Too tired to yawn, too tired to sleep:
Poor Tired Tim! It's sad for him. | Poor Tired Tim! It's sad for him.
He lags the long bright morning through, | Ever so tired of nothing to do;
He moons and mopes the livelong day,
Nothing to think about, nothing to say;
Up to bed with his candle to creep,
Too tired to yawn, too tired to sleep:
Poor Tired Tim! It's sad for him. | octave |
John Greenleaf Whittier | Anniversary Poem | Once more, dear friends, you meet beneath
A clouded sky
Not yet the sword has found its sheath,
And on the sweet spring airs the breath
Of war floats by.
Yet trouble springs not from the ground,
Nor pain from chance;
The Eternal order circles round,
And wave and storm find mete and bound
In Providence.
Full long our fe... | Once more, dear friends, you meet beneath
A clouded sky
Not yet the sword has found its sheath,
And on the sweet spring airs the breath
Of war floats by.
Yet trouble springs not from the ground,
Nor pain from chance;
The Eternal order circles round,
And wave and storm find mete and bound
In Providence.
Full long our fe... | To God and to our brother true,
To Heaven and Earth.
How faint, through din of merchandise
And count of gain,
Have seemed to us the captive's cries!
How far away the tears and sighs
Of souls in pain!
This day the fearful reckoning comes
To each and all;
We hear amidst our peaceful homes
The summons of the conscript dru... | free_verse |
Laurence Hope (Adela Florence Cory Nicolson) | Song of the Peri | Beauty, the Gift of Gifts, I give to thee.
Pleasure and love shall spring around thy feet
As through the lake the lotuses arise
Pinkly transparent and divinely sweet.
I give thee eyes aglow like morning stars,
Delicate brows, a mist of sable tresses,
That all the journey of thy lie may be
Lit up by love and softened by... | Beauty, the Gift of Gifts, I give to thee.
Pleasure and love shall spring around thy feet
As through the lake the lotuses arise
Pinkly transparent and divinely sweet.
I give thee eyes aglow like morning stars,
Delicate brows, a mist of sable tresses,
That all the journey of thy lie may be
Lit up by love and softened by... | And one shall murmur, "If the sun at dawn
Shall open and caress a happy flower,
What blame to him, although the blossom fade
In the full splendour of his noontide power?"
And one, "If aloes close together grow
It well may chance a plant shall wounded be,
Pierced by the thorntips of another's leaves,
Thus am I hurt unco... | free_verse |
Rudyard Kipling | Fuzzy-Wuzzy | (Soudan Expeditionary Force)
We've fought with many men acrost the seas,
An' some of 'em was brave an' some was not:
The Paythan an' the Zulu an' Burmese;
But the Fuzzy was the finest o' the lot.
We never got a ha'porth's change of 'im:
'E squatted in the scrub an' 'ocked our 'orses,
'E cut our sentries up at Suakim,
A... | (Soudan Expeditionary Force)
We've fought with many men acrost the seas,
An' some of 'em was brave an' some was not:
The Paythan an' the Zulu an' Burmese;
But the Fuzzy was the finest o' the lot.
We never got a ha'porth's change of 'im:
'E squatted in the scrub an' 'ocked our 'orses,
'E cut our sentries up at Suakim,
A... | An' a Zulu impi dished us up in style:
But all we ever got from such as they
Was pop to what the Fuzzy made us swaller;
We 'eld our bloomin' own, the papers say,
But man for man the Fuzzy knocked us 'oller.
Then 'ere's to you, Fuzzy-Wuzzy, an' the missis and the kid;
Our orders was to break you, an' of course we went a... | free_verse |
George MacDonald | Waiting | I waited for the Master
In the darkness dumb;
Light came fast and faster--
My light did not come!
I waited all the daylight,
All through noon's hot flame:
In the evening's gray light,
Lo, the Master came! | I waited for the Master
In the darkness dumb; | Light came fast and faster--
My light did not come!
I waited all the daylight,
All through noon's hot flame:
In the evening's gray light,
Lo, the Master came! | octave |
Oliver Herford | Brander Matthews | I'd best beware how I make free
With Brander Matthews L. L. D.
Since Prexy Wilson's paved the way
He may be President some day. | I'd best beware how I make free | With Brander Matthews L. L. D.
Since Prexy Wilson's paved the way
He may be President some day. | quatrain |
Thomas Moore | Cloris And Fanny. | Cloris! if I were Persia's king,
I'd make my graceful queen of thee;
While FANNY, wild and artless thing,
Should but thy humble handmaid be.
There is but one objection in it--
That, verily, I'm much afraid
I should, in some unlucky minute,
Forsake the mistress for the maid. | Cloris! if I were Persia's king,
I'd make my graceful queen of thee; | While FANNY, wild and artless thing,
Should but thy humble handmaid be.
There is but one objection in it--
That, verily, I'm much afraid
I should, in some unlucky minute,
Forsake the mistress for the maid. | octave |
Edgar Allan Poe | The Lake | In spring of youth it was my lot
To haunt of the wide world a spot
The which I could not love the less,
So lovely was the loneliness
Of a wild lake, with black rock bound,
And the tall pines that towered around.
But when the Night had thrown her pall
Upon the spot, as upon all,
And the mystic wind went by
Murmuring in ... | In spring of youth it was my lot
To haunt of the wide world a spot
The which I could not love the less,
So lovely was the loneliness
Of a wild lake, with black rock bound,
And the tall pines that towered around.
But when the Night had thrown her pall | Upon the spot, as upon all,
And the mystic wind went by
Murmuring in melody,
Then,ah, then, I would awake
To the terror of the lone lake.
Yet that terror was not fright,
But a tremulous delight,
A feeling not the jewelled mine
Could teach or bribe me to define,
Nor Love,although the Love were thine.
Death was in that p... | free_verse |
Ivan Sergeyevich Turgenev | The Banquet Of The Supreme Being | One day the Supreme Being took it into his head to give a great banquet in his palace of azure.
All the virtues were invited. Only the virtues ... men he did not ask ... only ladies.
There were a great many of them, great and small. The lesser virtues were more agreeable and genial than the great ones; but they all app... | One day the Supreme Being took it into his head to give a great banquet in his palace of azure.
All the virtues were invited. Only the virtues ... men he did not ask ... only ladies.
There were a great many of them, great and small. The lesser virtues were more agreeable and genial than the great ones; but they all app... | But the Supreme Being noticed two charming ladies who seemed to be totally unacquainted.
The Host gave one of the ladies his arm and led her up to the other.
'Beneficence!' he said, indicating the first.
'Gratitude!' he added, indicating the second.
Both the virtues were amazed beyond expression; ever since the world h... | free_verse |
Jean Blewett | The Orchard. | There's no garden like an orchard,
Nature shows no fairer thing
Than the apple trees in blossom
In these late days o' the spring.
Here the robin redbreast's nesting,
Here, from golden dawn till night,
Honey bees are gaily swimming
In a sea of pink and white.
Just a sea of fragrant blossoms,
Steeped in sunshine, drenche... | There's no garden like an orchard,
Nature shows no fairer thing
Than the apple trees in blossom
In these late days o' the spring.
Here the robin redbreast's nesting,
Here, from golden dawn till night, | Honey bees are gaily swimming
In a sea of pink and white.
Just a sea of fragrant blossoms,
Steeped in sunshine, drenched in dew,
Just a fragrant breath which tells you
Earth is fair again and new.
Just a breath of subtle sweetness,
Breath which holds the spice o' youth,
Holds the promise o' the summer -
Holds the best... | free_verse |
George MacDonald | Equity | No bird can sing in tune but that the Lord
Sits throned in equity above the heaven,
And holds the righteous balance always even;
No heart can true response to love afford
Wherein from one to eight not every chord
Is yet attuned by the spirits seven:
For tuneful no bird sings but that the Lord
Is throned in equity above... | No bird can sing in tune but that the Lord
Sits throned in equity above the heaven,
And holds the righteous balance always even;
No heart can true response to love afford | Wherein from one to eight not every chord
Is yet attuned by the spirits seven:
For tuneful no bird sings but that the Lord
Is throned in equity above high heaven.
Oh heart, by wrong unfilial scathed and scored,
And from thy humble throne with mazedness driven,
Take courage: when thy wrongs thou hast forgiven,
Thy right... | sonnet |
John Carr (Sir) | Echo. | Echo! thou sweet enchantress of the grove!
Oh! cease to answer to the tones of love;
Or teach my Delia in thine art divine,
Thou loveliest nymph! to hear and answer mine! | Echo! thou sweet enchantress of the grove! | Oh! cease to answer to the tones of love;
Or teach my Delia in thine art divine,
Thou loveliest nymph! to hear and answer mine! | quatrain |
Sara Teasdale | Riches | I have no riches but my thoughts,
Yet these are wealth enough for me;
My thoughts of you are golden coins
Stamped in the mint of memory;
And I must spend them all in song,
For thoughts, as well as gold, must be
Left on the hither side of death
To gain their immortality. | I have no riches but my thoughts,
Yet these are wealth enough for me; | My thoughts of you are golden coins
Stamped in the mint of memory;
And I must spend them all in song,
For thoughts, as well as gold, must be
Left on the hither side of death
To gain their immortality. | octave |
William Lisle Bowles | To Sir Walter Scott. - | Since last I saw that countenance so mild,
Slow-stealing age, and a faint line of care,
Had gently touched, methought, some features there;
Yet looked the man as placid as a child,
And the same voice, whilst mingled with the throng,
Unknowing, and unknown, we passed along,
That voice, a share of the brief time beguiled... | Since last I saw that countenance so mild,
Slow-stealing age, and a faint line of care,
Had gently touched, methought, some features there;
Yet looked the man as placid as a child, | And the same voice, whilst mingled with the throng,
Unknowing, and unknown, we passed along,
That voice, a share of the brief time beguiled!
That voice I ne'er may hear again, I sighed
At parting, wheresoe'er our various way,
In this great world, but from the banks of Tweed,
As slowly sink the shades of eventide,
Oh! I... | sonnet |
Edwin C. Ranck | The Medicine Man. | Good people if you have the mumps,
Or ever get down with the dumps;
Or have bad cold or aching pains,
Or ever suffer with chilblains--
Don't seek your doctor for advice,
And pay him some tremendous price,
But buy a drug that's safe and sure--
In fact, get Blank's Consumptive Cure. | Good people if you have the mumps,
Or ever get down with the dumps; | Or have bad cold or aching pains,
Or ever suffer with chilblains--
Don't seek your doctor for advice,
And pay him some tremendous price,
But buy a drug that's safe and sure--
In fact, get Blank's Consumptive Cure. | octave |
Nizar Qabbani | Damascus, What Are You Doing to Me? | 1
My voice rings out, this time, from Damascus
It rings out from the house of my mother and father
In Sham. The geography of my body changes.
The cells of my blood become green.
My alphabet is green.
In Sham. A new mouth emerges for my mouth
A new voice emerges for my voice
And my fingers
Become a tribe
2
I return to D... | 1
My voice rings out, this time, from Damascus
It rings out from the house of my mother and father
In Sham. The geography of my body changes.
The cells of my blood become green.
My alphabet is green.
In Sham. A new mouth emerges for my mouth
A new voice emerges for my voice
And my fingers
Become a tribe
2
I return to D... | Who were born with us...
Grew up with us...
And married with us...
To greet me...
8
I immerse myself in the Buzurriya Souq
Set a sail in a cloud of spices
Clouds of cloves
And cinnamon...
And camomile...
I perform ablutions in rose water once.
And in the water of passion many times...
And I forget'while in the Souq al-... | free_verse |
Robert Lee Frost | The Wood-Pile | Out walking in the frozen swamp one grey day
I paused and said, "I will turn back from here.
No, I will go on farther and we shall see."
The hard snow held me, save where now and then
One foot went down. The view was all in Straight up and down of tall slim trees
Too much alike to mark or name a place by
So as to say f... | Out walking in the frozen swamp one grey day
I paused and said, "I will turn back from here.
No, I will go on farther and we shall see."
The hard snow held me, save where now and then
One foot went down. The view was all in Straight up and down of tall slim trees
Too much alike to mark or name a place by
So as to say f... | The white one in his tail; like one who takes
Everything said as personal to himself.
One flight out sideways would have undeceived him.
And then there was a pile of wood for which
I forgot him and let his little fear
Carry him off the way I might have gone,
Without so much as wishing him good-night.
He went behind it ... | free_verse |
Thomas Gent | The Night-Blowing Cereus. | Can it be true, so fragrant and so fair,
To give thy perfumes to the dews of night?
Can aught so beautiful, despise the glare,
And fade, and sicken in the morning light?
Yes! peerless flower, the Heavens alone exhale
Thy fragrance, while the glittering stars attest,
And incense wafted by the midnight gale,
Untainted ri... | Can it be true, so fragrant and so fair,
To give thy perfumes to the dews of night?
Can aught so beautiful, despise the glare,
And fade, and sicken in the morning light? | Yes! peerless flower, the Heavens alone exhale
Thy fragrance, while the glittering stars attest,
And incense wafted by the midnight gale,
Untainted rises from thy spotless breast.
How like that Faith whose nature is apart
From human gaze, to love and work unseen,
Which gives to God an undivided heart,
In sorrow steadfa... | sonnet |
Robert Herrick | Fair Days: Or, Dawns Deceitful. | Fair was the dawn, and but e'en now the skies
Show'd like to cream inspir'd with strawberries,
But on a sudden all was chang'd and gone
That smil'd in that first sweet complexion.
Then thunder-claps and lightning did conspire
To tear the world, or set it all on fire.
What trust to things below, whenas we see,
As men, t... | Fair was the dawn, and but e'en now the skies
Show'd like to cream inspir'd with strawberries, | But on a sudden all was chang'd and gone
That smil'd in that first sweet complexion.
Then thunder-claps and lightning did conspire
To tear the world, or set it all on fire.
What trust to things below, whenas we see,
As men, the heavens have their hypocrisy? | octave |
William Wordsworth | Feelings Of The Tyrolese | The Land we from our fathers had in trust,
And to our children will transmit, or die:
This is our maxim, this our piety;
And God and Nature say that it is just.
That which we 'would' perform in arms we must!
We read the dictate in the infant's eye;
In the wife's smile; and in the placid sky;
And, at our feet, amid the ... | The Land we from our fathers had in trust,
And to our children will transmit, or die:
This is our maxim, this our piety;
And God and Nature say that it is just. | That which we 'would' perform in arms we must!
We read the dictate in the infant's eye;
In the wife's smile; and in the placid sky;
And, at our feet, amid the silent dust
Of them that were before us. Sing aloud
Old songs, the precious music of the heart!
Give, herds and flocks, your voices ... | sonnet |
Robert Herrick | Upon Luggs. Epig. | Luggs, by the condemnation of the Bench,
Was lately whipt for lying with a wench.
Thus pains and pleasures turn by turn succeed:
He smarts at last who does not first take heed. | Luggs, by the condemnation of the Bench, | Was lately whipt for lying with a wench.
Thus pains and pleasures turn by turn succeed:
He smarts at last who does not first take heed. | quatrain |
Robert Lee Frost | Dust Of Snow | The way a crow
Shook down on me
The dust of snow
From a hemlock tree
Has given my heart
A change of mood
And saved some part
Of a day I had rued. | The way a crow
Shook down on me | The dust of snow
From a hemlock tree
Has given my heart
A change of mood
And saved some part
Of a day I had rued. | octave |
Robert von Ranke Graves | Morning Phoenix | In my body lives a flame,
Flame that burns me all the day;
When a fierce sun does the same,
I am charred away.
Who could keep a smiling wit,
Roasted so in heart and hide,
Turning on the sun's red spit,
Scorched by love inside?
Caves I long for and cold rocks,
Minnow-peopled country brooks,
Blundering gales of Equinox,
... | In my body lives a flame,
Flame that burns me all the day;
When a fierce sun does the same,
I am charred away.
Who could keep a smiling wit, | Roasted so in heart and hide,
Turning on the sun's red spit,
Scorched by love inside?
Caves I long for and cold rocks,
Minnow-peopled country brooks,
Blundering gales of Equinox,
Sunless valley-nooks,
Daily so I might restore
Calcined heart and shrivelled skin,
A morning phoenix with proud roar
Kindled new within. | free_verse |
James Barron Hope | A King's Gratitude. | Plain men have fitful moods and so have Kings,
For Kings are only men, and often made
Of clay as common as e'er stained a spade.
But when the great are moody, then, the strings
Of gilded harps are smitten, and their strains
Are soft and soothing as the Summer rains.
And Saul was taken by an evil mood,
He felt within hi... | Plain men have fitful moods and so have Kings,
For Kings are only men, and often made
Of clay as common as e'er stained a spade.
But when the great are moody, then, the strings | Of gilded harps are smitten, and their strains
Are soft and soothing as the Summer rains.
And Saul was taken by an evil mood,
He felt within himself his spirit faint:
In vain he tossed upon his couch and wooed
Refreshing slumbers. Sleep knows no constraint!
Then David came: his physic and advice
All in a harp, and clea... | sonnet |
Madison Julius Cawein | For The Old | These are the things I pray Heaven send us still,
To blow the ashes of the years away,
Or keep aglow forever 'neath their gray
The fire that warms when Life's old house grows chill:
First Faith, that gazed into our youth's bright eyes;
Courage, that helped us onward, rain or sun;
Then Hope, who captained all our deeds ... | These are the things I pray Heaven send us still,
To blow the ashes of the years away, | Or keep aglow forever 'neath their gray
The fire that warms when Life's old house grows chill:
First Faith, that gazed into our youth's bright eyes;
Courage, that helped us onward, rain or sun;
Then Hope, who captained all our deeds well done;
And, last, the dream of Love that never dies. | octave |
Emily Elizabeth Dickinson | "I Have No Life But This," | I have no life but this,
To lead it here;
Nor any death, but lest
Dispelled from there;
Nor tie to earths to come,
Nor action new,
Except through this extent,
The realm of you. | I have no life but this,
To lead it here; | Nor any death, but lest
Dispelled from there;
Nor tie to earths to come,
Nor action new,
Except through this extent,
The realm of you. | octave |
Friedrich Schiller | The Imitator. | Good from the good, to the reason this is not hard of conception;
But the genius has power good from the bad to evoke.
'Tis the conceived alone, that thou, imitator, canst practise;
Food the conceived never is, save to the mind that conceives. | Good from the good, to the reason this is not hard of conception; | But the genius has power good from the bad to evoke.
'Tis the conceived alone, that thou, imitator, canst practise;
Food the conceived never is, save to the mind that conceives. | quatrain |
Robert Herrick | God's Descent. | God is then said for to descend, when He
Doth here on earth some thing of novity;
As when in human nature He works more
Than ever yet the like was done before. | God is then said for to descend, when He | Doth here on earth some thing of novity;
As when in human nature He works more
Than ever yet the like was done before. | quatrain |
John Clare | In Hilly-Wood | How sweet to be thus nestling deep in boughs,
Upon an ashen stoven pillowing me;
Faintly are heard the ploughmen at their ploughs,
But not an eye can find its way to see.
The sunbeams scarce molest me with a smile,
So thickly the leafy armies gather round;
And where they do, the breeze blows cool the while,
Their leafy... | How sweet to be thus nestling deep in boughs,
Upon an ashen stoven pillowing me;
Faintly are heard the ploughmen at their ploughs,
But not an eye can find its way to see. | The sunbeams scarce molest me with a smile,
So thickly the leafy armies gather round;
And where they do, the breeze blows cool the while,
Their leafy shadows dancing on the ground.
Full many a flower, too, wishing to be seen,
Perks up its head the hiding grass between,--
In mid-wood silence, thus, how sweet to be;
Wher... | sonnet |
Robert Herrick | Upon Himself. | I lately fri'd, but now behold
I freeze as fast, and shake for cold.
And in good faith I'd thought it strange
T' have found in me this sudden change;
But that I understood by dreams
These only were but Love's extremes;
Who fires with hope the lover's heart,
And starves with cold the self-same part. | I lately fri'd, but now behold
I freeze as fast, and shake for cold. | And in good faith I'd thought it strange
T' have found in me this sudden change;
But that I understood by dreams
These only were but Love's extremes;
Who fires with hope the lover's heart,
And starves with cold the self-same part. | octave |
John Keats | Sonnet VIII: To My Brothers | Small, busy flames play through the fresh laid coals,
And their faint cracklings o'er our silence creep
Like whispers of the household gods that keep
A gentle empire o'er fraternal souls.
And while, for rhymes, I search around the poles,
Your eyes are fix d, as in poetic sleep,
Upon the lore so voluble and deep,
That a... | Small, busy flames play through the fresh laid coals,
And their faint cracklings o'er our silence creep
Like whispers of the household gods that keep
A gentle empire o'er fraternal souls. | And while, for rhymes, I search around the poles,
Your eyes are fix d, as in poetic sleep,
Upon the lore so voluble and deep,
That aye at fall of night our care condoles.
This is your birth-day Tom, and I rejoice
That thus it passes smoothly, quietly.
Many such eves of gently whisp'ring noise
May we together pass, and ... | sonnet |
William Ernest Henley | London Types - I. Bus-Driver | He's called The General from the brazen craft
And dash with which he sneaks a bit of road
And all its fares; challenged, or chafed, or chaffed,
Back-answers of the newest he'll explode;
He reins his horses with an air; he treats
With scoffing calm whatever powers there be;
He gets it straight, puts a bit on, and meets
... | He's called The General from the brazen craft
And dash with which he sneaks a bit of road
And all its fares; challenged, or chafed, or chaffed,
Back-answers of the newest he'll explode; | He reins his horses with an air; he treats
With scoffing calm whatever powers there be;
He gets it straight, puts a bit on, and meets
His losses with both lip and pounds s. d.;
He arrogates a special taste in short;
Is loftily grateful for a flagrant smoke;
At all the smarter housemaids winks his court,
And taps them f... | sonnet |
George Pope Morris | O'er the Mountains. | Some spirit wafts our mountain lay--
Hili ho! boys, hili ho!
To distant groves and glens away!
Hili ho! boys, hili ho!
E'en so the tide of empire flows--
Ho! boys, hili ho!
Rejoicing as it westward goes!
Ho! boys, hili ho!
To refresh our weary way
Gush the crystal fountains,
As a pilgrim band we stray
Cheerly o'er the ... | Some spirit wafts our mountain lay--
Hili ho! boys, hili ho!
To distant groves and glens away!
Hili ho! boys, hili ho!
E'en so the tide of empire flows--
Ho! boys, hili ho!
Rejoicing as it westward goes!
Ho! boys, hili ho! | To refresh our weary way
Gush the crystal fountains,
As a pilgrim band we stray
Cheerly o'er the mountains.
The woodland rings with song and shout!
Hili ho! boys, hili ho!
As though a fairy hunt were out!
Hili ho! boys, hili ho!
E'en so the voice of woman cheers--
Ho! boys, hili ho!
The hearts of hardy mountaineers!
Ho... | free_verse |
Robert Burns | On A Henpecked Country Squire. | As father Adam first was fool'd,
A case that's still too common,
Here lies a man a woman rul'd,
The devil rul'd the woman. | As father Adam first was fool'd, | A case that's still too common,
Here lies a man a woman rul'd,
The devil rul'd the woman. | quatrain |
Robert Herrick | To God. | Lord, I am like to mistletoe,
Which has no root, and cannot grow
Or prosper but by that same tree
It clings about; so I by Thee.
What need I then to fear at all,
So long as I about Thee crawl?
But if that tree should fall and die,
Tumble shall heav'n, and down will I. | Lord, I am like to mistletoe,
Which has no root, and cannot grow | Or prosper but by that same tree
It clings about; so I by Thee.
What need I then to fear at all,
So long as I about Thee crawl?
But if that tree should fall and die,
Tumble shall heav'n, and down will I. | octave |
Robert Herrick | God's Dwelling. | God's said to dwell there, wheresoever He
Puts down some prints of His high Majesty;
As when to man He comes, and there doth place
His Holy Spirit, or doth plant His Grace. | God's said to dwell there, wheresoever He | Puts down some prints of His high Majesty;
As when to man He comes, and there doth place
His Holy Spirit, or doth plant His Grace. | quatrain |
Sara Teasdale | May Night | The spring is fresh and fearless
And every leaf is new,
The world is brimmed with moonlight,
The lilac brimmed with dew.
Here in the moving shadows
I catch my breath and sing,
My heart is fresh and fearless
And over-brimmed with spring. | The spring is fresh and fearless
And every leaf is new, | The world is brimmed with moonlight,
The lilac brimmed with dew.
Here in the moving shadows
I catch my breath and sing,
My heart is fresh and fearless
And over-brimmed with spring. | octave |
Alfred Lord Tennyson | On One Who Affected An Effeminate Manner | While man and woman still are incomplete,
I prize that soul where man and woman meet,
Which types all Nature's male and female plan,
But, friend, man-woman is not woman-man. | While man and woman still are incomplete, | I prize that soul where man and woman meet,
Which types all Nature's male and female plan,
But, friend, man-woman is not woman-man. | quatrain |
John Hartley | Queen ov Skircoit Green. | Have yo seen mi bonny Mary,
Shoo lives at Skircoit Green;
An old fowk say a fairer lass
Nor her wor nivver seen.
An th' young ens say shoo's th' sweetest flaar,
'At's bloomin thear to-day;
An one an all are scared to deeath,
Lest shoo should flee away.
Shoo's health an strength an beauty too,
Shoo's grace an style as w... | Have yo seen mi bonny Mary,
Shoo lives at Skircoit Green;
An old fowk say a fairer lass
Nor her wor nivver seen.
An th' young ens say shoo's th' sweetest flaar,
'At's bloomin thear to-day;
An one an all are scared to deeath,
Lest shoo should flee away.
Shoo's health an strength an beauty too,
Shoo's grace an style as w... | Her fayther's growin old an gray,
Her mother's wellny done;
But in ther child they find a stay,
As life's sands quickly run.
Her smilin face like sunshine comes,
To chase away ther cares,
An peeace an comfort allus dwells,
In that dear hooam ov theirs.
Each Sundy morn shoo's off to schooil,
To taich her Bible class;
An... | free_verse |
Ben Jonson | On Something, That Walks Somewhere | At court I met it, in clothes brave enough
To be a courtier, and looks grave enough
To seem a statesman: as I near it came,
It made me a great face. I asked the name.
"A lord," it cried, "buried in flesh and blood,
And such from whom let no man hope least good,
For I will do none; and as little ill,
For I will dare non... | At court I met it, in clothes brave enough
To be a courtier, and looks grave enough | To seem a statesman: as I near it came,
It made me a great face. I asked the name.
"A lord," it cried, "buried in flesh and blood,
And such from whom let no man hope least good,
For I will do none; and as little ill,
For I will dare none." Good lord, walk dead still. | octave |
Unknown | Nursery Rhyme. DXLIV. Natural History. | I had two pigeons bright and gay,
They flew from me the other day;
What was the reason they did go?
I cannot tell for I do not know. | I had two pigeons bright and gay, | They flew from me the other day;
What was the reason they did go?
I cannot tell for I do not know. | quatrain |
Christina Georgina Rossetti | Jesus, Do I Love Thee? | (Lyra Eucharistica, second edition, 1864.)
Jesus, do I love Thee?
Thou art far above me,
Seated out of sight
Hid in Heavenly Light
Of most highest height.
Martyred hosts implore Thee,
Seraphs fall before Thee,
Angels and Archangels,
Cherub throngs adore Thee;
Blessed She that bore Thee!
All the Saints approve Thee,
All... | (Lyra Eucharistica, second edition, 1864.)
Jesus, do I love Thee?
Thou art far above me,
Seated out of sight
Hid in Heavenly Light
Of most highest height.
Martyred hosts implore Thee,
Seraphs fall before Thee,
Angels and Archangels,
Cherub throngs adore Thee;
Blessed She that bore Thee! | All the Saints approve Thee,
All the Virgins love Thee.
I show as a blot
Blood hath cleansed not,
As a barren spot
In Thy fruitful lot.
I, fig-tree fruit-unbearing;
Thou, righteous Judge unsparing:
What canst Thou do more to me
That shall not more undo me?
Thy Justice hath a sound -
Why cumbereth it the ground?
Thy Lo... | free_verse |
Frances Anne Kemble (Fanny) | To ---- | Is it a sin to wish that I may meet thee
In that dim world whither our spirits stray,
When sleep and darkness follow life and day?
Is it a sin, that there my voice should greet thee
With all that love that I must die concealing?
Will my tear-laden eyes sin in revealing
The agony that preys upon my soul?
Is't not enough... | Is it a sin to wish that I may meet thee
In that dim world whither our spirits stray,
When sleep and darkness follow life and day?
Is it a sin, that there my voice should greet thee
With all that love that I must die concealing? | Will my tear-laden eyes sin in revealing
The agony that preys upon my soul?
Is't not enough through the long, loathsome day,
To hold each look, and word, in stern control?
May I not wish the staring sunlight gone,
Day and its thousand torturing moments done,
And prying sights and sounds of men away?
Oh, still and silen... | free_verse |
Madison Julius Cawein | Her Eyes And Mouth. | There is no Paradise like that which lies
Deep in the heavens of her azure eyes:
There is no Eden here on Earth that glows
Like that which smiles rich in her mouth's red rose. | There is no Paradise like that which lies | Deep in the heavens of her azure eyes:
There is no Eden here on Earth that glows
Like that which smiles rich in her mouth's red rose. | quatrain |
Subsets and Splits
No community queries yet
The top public SQL queries from the community will appear here once available.